Time Waits For No One
by Lioness's Heart
Summary: She has not seen her son in more than fifteen years. Now it is too late. Oneshot.


**Disclaimer: I only wish it was mine.**

 **This was written for a eulogy/obituary themed challenge over at livejournal. I've been fascinated with his mother and how she might have dealt with finding out what happened during the finale if she did. This is an attempt to look into that.  
**

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Mary Brooks has not seen her son in more than fifteen years. It is her own fault, really. She knows that better than anyone. She never quite got over what her husband did or losing everything she cared about because of James – well, she corrects herself, she lost Danny – _Neal_ – by her own fault, not because of James.

She knows that the responsibility for that lies completely with her. She was not the mother Neal deserved. She might have been there for his childhood and the difficult teenage years, but Ellen had been his mother more than she had. Ellen had told him the truth about James when the time came. Ellen had done everything for Neal while his mother had done nothing.

Part of her blamed Ellen for that. As soon as he knew the truth he bolted. He was gone and she never saw him again. The moment she saw his name in print she knew exactly who Neal Caffrey was. He was using her name, after all. It pained her when she saw his work splashed across the papers – she always knew deep down when it was him, even when the press had no idea. He was such a clever boy, her son. Too clever for his own good.

When the FBI caught him it did not earn a headline. She ran across the article online instead. She never quite got up the courage to go see him in prison, much less attend his trial – assuming the Marshalls would have let her do either.

It has been almost eight years since her son went to jail for forging bonds. Now the headlines are splashed with the names of the Pink Panthers. In the articles they mention that an unnnamed FBI consultant was killed bringing the thieves to justice and she prays it is not her boy.

The Marshalls show up at her door to tell her in person when she reaches out to ask after Neal. The rest is a blur. Somehow she ends up standing in a cemetery with a small crowd of people and one of the Marshalls at her side. There are less than a dozen people – a handful of FBI agents, one with his wife in tow, an elegant older woman standing with a squirrely middle-aged man, and a redhead in expensive clothes. She can see the grief in the way they stand. These were the people her son loved – the people that loved him. This was the family he made when his own had failed him so badly.

They hardly notice her presence there. She does not blame them. They have more right to be at her son's funeral than she does. They stand in silence for a long time before one of the agents clears his throat. His wife looks up at him and squeezes his hand.

"Neal Caffrey was the most infuriating person I ever met. He never listened to anything I said. I would tell him to stay in the car and the next thing I'd know, he would be right next to me trying to charm the witness – or worse, the target. But it always turned out alright in the end. You could never tell what was going on in his head, but he was loyal. He was smart – he knew what he was doing, even when he couldn't help himself." The agent took a deep breath, looking away for a moment. "He was my best friend. Even when I knew he was up to something, I knew I could trust him. He didn't always do the right thing – but he always came through when it mattered. He never let anyone he cared about down if he could help it."

A bitter laugh escapes the agent. "I spent the better part of three years of my life chasing Neal the first time. I spent another four years making sure he didn't land himself back in jail again. He made mistakes, he made some bad choices, but he always did the right thing when I needed him to – even if I didn't think it was the right thing at the time. It's hard to believe he's gone." He shakes his head. "I still can't believe he's gone. He earned his freedom and he never got to enjoy a moment of it. He should have been free a long time ago, but not like this. He didn't deserve this"

He falls silent, hesitating for a split second before he moves forward and places a rose on top of the casket. His wife does the same a moment later. The group wanders away after the rest of them have said their goodbyes, leaving the agent who spoke standing by the grave.

That is when he seems to notice her for the first time. He frowns slightly. "Who are you?"

She offers him a faint smile. "My name is Mary Brooks," she tells him. There is a flash of recognition on his face. "Neal was my son."

"Peter Burke," he says by way of introduction.

They stand in what is almost companionable silence. "Thank you for taking care of him."

Burke turns to look at her, the question written on his face.

"I haven't seen my son since he left on his eighteenth birthday. He never looked back." She pauses, twisting the bracelet at her wrist around. "He was always such a good boy – but he had a knack for trouble. Trouble seemed to find him sometimes. I was a terrible mother, but I did love him. Thank you for taking care of him and keeping him out of trouble, Agent Burke."

He offers her a tight smile. "There's no need to thank me." His voice is quiet.

She can tell that there is something more going on but chooses not to ask. "Nevertheless, I am thanking you."

She lets the Marshall lead her back to her car again and sweep her away. The tears start somewhere between the cemetery and her hotel. They are the first tears she has been able to shed for Neal – none of it seemed real before her conversation with Peter Burke. Now it all is and she feels grief she never imagined she could.

She has not seen her son in over fifteen years and now he is gone.


End file.
